The Lady, or the Tiger?
by Ella Greggs
Summary: Zoë wants a child. Hell, so does he. But these nightmares, each one so gorram plausible... There's only one person on board Wash can talk to, and boy, is he looking forward to that conversation! Slightly dark genfic on the Washburne baby debate. Pre-BDM.
1. Living Deep in the Rough and Tumble

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fiction based on characters created by Joss Whedon for the television series _Firefly_. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:** As much as I enjoy heartwarming stories of babies and family, it seems to me that infants and _Firefly _would be a bad combination. I suspect audiences would have liked 'Zoë pegnant' stories, but not 'baby in danger' stories. And yet, how could the writers keep a baby on _Serenity _out of danger and still maintain the show's general tone, storyline and credibility? Given Joss's particular sense of drama, I fear we'd have gotten a few scenes of Washburne domesticity, and then something really unpleasant would have happened to little Baby Washburne. This fanfic is the result of my musings. Frank R. Stockton's short story _The Lady, or the Tiger?_ is about choosing the lesser of two evils. More on that at the end of Chapter 2.

**Rating: T **(for descriptions of implied– but not explicit– violence to children)

**Spoilers:** None. The story takes place after "Objects in Space" and references events in "Objects in Space" and "Heart of Gold."

* * *

**The first night: **

The baby is screaming. Wash always feels so helpless, hearing his daughter making that sound. He tries to focus, gropes for the clarity that's so essential when complicated, life-saving maneuvers are called for. Sweat soaking through his flight suit, he is doing his level best, swooping and swerving and dodging in and out of the asteroid field, plowing through atmo and then hitting a hard burn just as he flips the pods and sends _Serenity _shooting back past the Reaver ship. Used to be this was Wash's favorite part of the job, when he transformed the ship into an extension of his own body and together they achieved the impossible. But certainty has eluded him since the baby came, and he fears today his skill is insufficient. The child is frightened, shaken by the violent, abrupt motions Daddy's making with the ship, and despite the extra soundproofing they added to their bunk, Wash can still hear her wailing out her distress all the way up on the bridge.

The Reavers are relentless. Their ships close in, deploying those fearsome, grisly grappling hooks. He knows, of course, the crew would die to protect the baby, but that's the problem, Wash thinks, now gripped by wild despair as the ship shudders. The hooks have pierced _Serenity_'s hull. He's failed and they will all die, leaving her defenseless. Daddy failed and there will be just an empty cradle, a torn blanket, a plastic dinosaur toy (a gentle herbivore) lying useless on the floor. His head is swimming, hope shutting down as grief and anger and guilt overwhelm him. Oh God, what they'll do to her, his little love! But Daddy won't let them. A grim certainty restored, Wash moves quickly towards their bunk, to help his precious girl stop crying.

**The second night:**

Mommy's dark eyes, Daddy's square jaw, Mommy's thick, curly hair, Daddy's penchant for funny noises that make Mommy laugh. No doubt about it, the kid's gonna be a heart-breaker one day. Playing with Mommy's betrothal necklace as she balances him on her hip, going about her daily chores. Sitting like an angel in his basket on a crate in the cargo hold, watching as Mommy hauls contraband with Uncle Mal and Auntie Jayne, stashing it in secret places. Someday, when he's a bit bigger boy, Wash will play hide-and-seek with him amid the crates and teach him bird whistles that echo off the hull.

Suddenly rough men boarding the ship, swarming over the cargo hold. The air thick with bullets and Zoë bleeding as one pierces her armored vest. Wash flying down the stairs, only one thought flooding his mind, one object filling his sight. Arms extending, reaching. But he can't manage to get there, and then... His darling boy, his heart! Can't look, mustn't look. Zoë going mad, silent and efficient as Death, slaughtering the intruders without mercy despite her wound. But it's her fault, Mommy's fault! Mommy's work followed her home from the office. A Badger double-cross. A Patience double-cross. A Saffron double-cross. Some other low-life Fate has set against them. Revenge will follow, Zoë will see to that. But who cares? Now Mommy and Daddy no more, and Wash knows he will never care about anything ever again.

**The third night:**

Dear God, someone get the baby out of this accursed place! Niska is laughing, perverse and giddy with glee, fingers steepled together and pressed to his lips. That rigor mortis grin! Lifts an index finger. That's the signal and another wave of current burns and rips through Wash's insides. Iron slats dig into his shoulder blades as the voltage slackens and he falls back hard against the rigid metal frame, body screaming.

But none of that matters. Get away from that cradle, you sick, psychotic sonofabitch! I'll kill you, I'll smash your face in, I'll tear out your throat, I'll…I'll... Another jolt, more spasmodic convulsions and then, then he learns what _real _agony is. No! Please, no! Wash is sobbing now, begging and broken. The shocks have no effect. He doesn't feel them anymore as Niska lifts the child in his withered arms and turns, walking away.

**The fourth night:**

"Wash, honey, another nightmare?" Zoë's voice is tense with concern. She rubs his back as he sits bent in shadow on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, facing away so she won't see the tears still fresh on his cheeks.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I woke you, _bao bei_."

"Tell me."

He must get hold of himself. He's such a bad liar, and he married such a good lie-detector.

"Tell me, baby," she says again, soft and caressing. He wants to gather her in his arms, overwhelm his senses with everything Zoë, make love to her forever and stop, _stop _gorram thinking.

How can he tell her? She wants a child, demands a child. _Ta ma de_, he wants one, too. A permanent family all his own to cherish, amid this family of chance and circumstance. But these nightmares, each one so gorram _plausible_. Possible. Maybe even probable. She's so strong, so sure. Normally, that's good enough for him, he'll go along. But not with this. If only their life was something else, _somewhere_ else.

Should he tell her? Yes, he thinks sarcastically, let's hash this out again, since he's _so very close_ to getting her to see his side of things. Ha! The ship's been invaded twice in as many months, first by frontier thugs and then by a psychopathic bounty hunter. She's been shot at, he's been shot at; hell, _everyone's _been shot at! It's the main pastime around here, and yet leaving _Serenity _for the sake of the future Baby Washburne is off the table. A non-negotiable. There's the Mal factor, but Wash doesn't want to think about that right now, because it will just get him all angrified. And staying here without a baby? She's already rejected that with "I want to meet that child. Period." Punctuated by a take-no-prisoners eyebrow arch that's very hard to argue with. So where does that leave them?

Zoë doesn't press. When her almost compulsively verbal man needs quiet, best to leave him be. He'll speak in his own time. She sits up and gently shifts closer, wrapping her arms around him and draping like a blanket across his back. She kisses the base of his neck lightly. "I know you don't want to take anything, in case it messes up your flying, but…"

"No, I'll go see Simon in the morning." He has an idea, a coward's way out. So okay, he's a coward and … gorramit, this is for her, too! She thinks she could bear it, one of his plausible nightmares coming true, but she couldn't, not if it were her fault in the first place for insisting they bring a tiny little helpless person into the mix. It would only take one rotten deal, one job gone wrong... And with their luck, that's almost inevitable. And if she _could_ cope with the loss, well, that's the scariest scenario of all. Because it would _shatter _him. And then he'd never be able to forgive her. He'd resent her, for being _too _strong. So either way, his idiotic plan will save their marriage.

But if she ever found out... No question, she'd never trust him again. Who knows, she might even leave him. And _that _would shatter him just as effectively. Well, then she mustn't find out. So not just an idiotic plan, but damn risky, too. And yet, can he really chance the alternative?

The dilemma runs in an endless loop through Wash's mind as he dresses and heads to the bridge for a course-check, trying to shake off his dreams.

* * *

bao bei = sweetheart

_Ta ma de _= dammit

_fei hua_ = nonsense


	2. Objective Assessment

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?"

Simon's eyes widen a bit as he catches the nervous urgency in Wash's voice. He quickly blinks to cover any look of surprise. "Yes. Of course."

"Irrevocable, inviolable, relegated to eternal bedpan duty if you break it-absolute, right? Even if an amazon threatens to beat you senseless with a Winchester Randall, you're bound to silence?"

The words are typical Wash _fei hua_, but Simon sees no mirth on Wash's face. He looks pale and drawn and totally serious. "Yes. What's this about?"

It comes out in a rush, more demand than question: "A vasectomy, that's something you could do on the ship, out-patient style, isn't it?"

Simon notes the puffy bags under Wash's red-rimmed eyes, his angry, impatient tone and abrupt movements, the way he is rocking just a little on his feet. But it doesn't take a doctor to diagnose a conflicted man. Clearly something has changed in the Washburne baby debate. So Simon pauses a beat, and then asks cautiously, "Have you talked this over with Zoë?"

Wash laughs in a skittish, high-pitched tone that Simon immediately puts down to stress and sleep deprivation. The pilot throws up his hands and shrugs emphatically.

"She says I'm making excuses." This is so unfair, Wash fumes. Him on the defensive, considering bodily alterations. "Says it doesn't matter that trouble follows this ship like it's on a mission from God." His voice is rising, gestures getting broader. "She says… she says she's not so afraid of losing something that she won't try to have it." He shakes his head in disbelief. When did _he _become the sensible one?

But that has all to do with Zoë and Simon knows this visit is about Wash. And so he waits and listens.

Wash bows his head for a moment, hesitant to go on. But he must, or else Simon won't understand, and then he might not help. So at last, reluctantly he whispers, "But I am, Doc. I'm afraid."

Simon nods. He himself is no stranger to doubt.

"Zoë, she was raised in the Black. I was raised on a toxic waste dump of a planet, so it's not like I'm saying dirt-side's the only place a kid can grow up. It's just …" Wash looks vaguely around the infirmary, and then his eyes drop to the floor.

"The violence, I know," Simon finishes for him.

"Yes!" cries Wash, head snapping up, arms extending in tribute. "The violence. Exactly! So you'll do it?" He feels kind of bad about putting Simon in mortal danger like this. But Zoë isn't likely to do any permanent damage to the doctor if she finds out. She'll save all her best moves for her sneaky, underhanded husband_._

Simon looks clinically at Wash. Even minor fatigue can impair judgment, and this man is clearly exhausted and in a heightened emotional state. Based on his level of agitation, Simon suspects Wash isn't nearly as sure as he wants Simon to believe. And the first rule of medicine is _do no harm_, not _the customer's always right_.

Not for the first time, Simon wishes he had paid closer attention during that three month psych rotation back in residency. He likes to think he's empathetic to his patients' needs. However, it's been pointed out more than once to him since he joined this crew that providing emotional support isn't his forte. Perhaps the Shepherd could offer some guidance? But Simon rejects the idea almost immediately – Wash isn't a religious man, and Book isn't a father.

What would his own father say, Simon wonders, about the joys of parenthood? Is the fine, upstanding Gabriel Tam ashamed of his fugitive children, who've ventured so far from the accomplished paths he dreamed for them? Becoming criminals, even killers. Would he weep for the dangers they've endured? What of the barbarity that's been done to his only daughter, at the Academy where Father left her, thinking she'd be safe – could he forgive himself if he knew?

Simon knows he has to say something. "What you are feeling is perfectly natural." Generally a good sentence. The therapeutic equivalent of aspirin, perhaps, but Simon is grateful he has it in stock as he sees Wash rush to gulp it down. "This is a big decision." Simon shrugs inwardly. About as medicinal as a multi-vitamin, but not totally useless and always safe to prescribe. Now to move back onto familiar ground. "The procedure is very simple, and technically it's reversible, although there's never a 100 percent guarantee. I'd feel better if you and Zoë talked this through first," – here he raises a hand to shut down Wash's protestations – "but in any case, you should at least be properly rested before we do anything."

It occurs to Simon that mere fatigue won't stop a desperate man. He improvises: "It's important to avoid risking complications that could affect your, um, romantic performance." That caution registers on Wash's blanching face and Simon hurries on, feeling guilty about having just lied shamelessly to a patient. "I can dope you with something that's not very strong. It will just relax your muscles and help you fall naturally into a deep, non-REM sleep for a few hours. We can talk again after you wake up." In truth, though, Simon has no idea what will be any different in a few hours, unless Wash changes his mind. Or persuades Zoë to change hers.

Wash is disappointed he'll have to revisit his idiotic plan, particularly the going-through-with-it part. He wishes what's done is done were, well, done. But he thanks the doctor for helping him as Simon carefully guides him back to his bunk. Zoë's not there, which usually makes it a bit harder to sleep, but the drugs don't know she's away and begin to take effect. Lying in bed again brings Wash full circle, and he compulsively replays the past week's vivid nightmares in his head. As he drifts off, Wash marvels at what a man will do for love. He thinks about all that he has, and all that he wants, and all the things he's afraid of losing.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** In Frank R. Stockton's short story _The Lady, or the Tiger? _a King seeks to separate his royal daughter from her lowly-born lover. He makes the young man choose between two doors. Behind one is a beautiful lady-in-waiting, whom he will be forced to marry. Behind the other is a vicious tiger that will tear him apart. The princess knows what is behind each door, and signals the young man towards one of them. But which door does she send him to? If to the lady, the princess loses him to another woman and jealousy consumes her ever after. If to the tiger, she condemns him to death. Stockton ends the story at the point where the young man is just about to open the door the princess has indicated to him. It is left to the reader to decide which fate she chose for her lover.

In our story, Wash is on the verge of a momentous decision, one that will necessarily have a significant impact on his marriage to Zoë and their lives on _Serenity_. So my question to you is this: _**which will Wash choose – the lady, or the tiger?**_


End file.
